The handy man, though he often spoils good things which, with a little professional care, might be made almost as good as new, is not to be altogether despised. Though he is not the handy man of his claim, he certainly deserves credit for keeping handy tools. Wherever he finds discarded boots or clothes, he cuts patches and saves them for emergency. He always keeps a pair of scissors, a razor, strap, brush, pincers, and many other useful things, and he is seldom short of nails. But to one who is determined to do without his services, he is often a very unpleasant spectator. For instance, if I am shaving the handy man stands two feet away, glaring like a discomforted demon; and when I stand before the glass, and the razor is on my face, he stands behind my back, so that to my confusion and danger two faces are reflected. If he sees a man who has persistently declined his aid, and who is in the act of sewing, the handy man either stands in the light, or stands seemingly counting the stitches, critically watching, until the man must either prick his finger or spoil his work. When he sees a man repairing a boot he says sarcastically: "Take care you strike the right nail." The other laughs, but proves his confusion when the next instant he strikes off the nail of his left-hand thumb. The handy man even prescribes for the sick, but in nine cases out of ten his cure is an intoxicant, the time being immaterial. I allowed him to cut my hair, and he seemed well pleased at the result; but after one glance in the glass, I decided not to remove my cap for three weeks, whether at meals or not.